


light faps

by ruruka



Category: Death Note (Anime & Manga)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 11:52:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17100086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruruka/pseuds/ruruka
Summary: and L watches





	light faps

Clock fingers pinch tire since the monitors last ventured an evocative change. Pages flick every so often, pencil nudges just viable over the tone of a shoulder. Up a corner, downstairs, broth simmers in a tall copper pot. Sukiyaki, by the looks. A teen drama murmurs across the living room television. No one breathes a word.

The investigation couldn’t be more thrilling.

“Ryuzaki, my family hasn’t shown any reason to continue suspecting them in the past three hours.” Sudden, a motion takes him physical to dip lenses up the bridge, cough into a fist. “Excuse any personal opinion I may have here... But wouldn’t the real Kira have done something by this point?”

The screens all continue their flicker. Unarmed. Hands upon the knees, tired, paled, the other’s not turned to him the slightest, all wrapped up so tight by the throat over the surveillance monitors’ gleam. In a monotonous murmuring, “Keep watching.”

Souichirou’s staring at him still, he feels, long until there from the wall of screens sounds a din abnormal to the quiet simmers and TV musings and graphite- that of which, the latter has played a vanishing act now. Yagami Light has finished his studying, and chooses better relax in leaning gainst his chair back, breathes, stretches so kindly a neck’s aching. L can see him from his spot a half hundred miles away, and he leans in even further now til his nose practically tastes the static, eyeing him out beyond grayed worlds. The top right drawer of his desk drags open. Hands on the knees, breath in the throat, a quiet observer tilts forward in zeal.

Souichirou sputters his darkened face away.

“That’s- I can’t believe my son would look at magazines like that...” Subtly, disgust reflects back from the front most monitor. The internal thought process would stem here, think that if Souichirou stays solid in his spot then he’s a true devotee to justice even in the face of revolt- but it’s just that Light’s leaning back in his chair just enough to carry a pleased sigh down his mouth, fat breasted supermodels splayed out across his desk and hardly an angle well enough to keep track of both his hands.

The seat beside him scrapes the tile.

“...I need some coffee.” Business oxfords traipse heavy from the room. L dips one finger to his front teeth.

It’s interesting, that lab rat’s routine, he must admit. Study so righteously for hours upon end. Then, immediately, no rest, as any studious gentleman would, pull out the dirty polaroids and milk the ego.

A hand smooths down the side of one page, though only again can a sigh find their strapless photography before the magazine closes altogether to be set aside. Light sits there a moment, just sits there, until his jacket sleeves pinch tightly against his movement to set touch across the keyboard.

L squints to catch what his subject begins to search up. A third part to the routine sets into place here, once the studying and the voyeurism end next comes the internet search for dozens of images pixelated into blond, tanned, defined. Light slouches himself forward. Should he force his eyes better, L can piece together just exactly what’s come of it, wherein a normal adolescent man spends his spare hours Googling pictures of Ryūga Hideki for personal perusing.

He chews harder upon the finger. So far, it doesn’t quite align with his previous conception of performative perfection, yet still breathes there something... _off_.

Something’s off about Yagami Light.

And in the next seconds it is the clinking clasps of a belt.

Pitch dark widens round the contours of his eyes.

Not quite especially yet has anything come of it, just the computer portfolio clicked away to kill the monitor and leave the room in lamplight alone. Light exhales with one hand in the hair, just sitting there just goddamned sitting there until all at once he is not, shifted to a twist opposite and the amber flash of two irises burn a hole damnably straight into the eye of the camera watching just priorly his back.

It lasts only a moment long enough to be notable to a detective’s wit. Something’s off, by all Gods is something going so horribly atrociously luridly wrong, in special once the comforter molds beneath the heat of welcoming a body upon it, one finger tugging for the tie and the buttons whilst its hot licentious match goes for the button fly.

Twenty four hour surveillance. That’s what he’d said to make certain. And by Hell and back, he’s leaning on the edge to see a murder spill out, a taut jawed smart mouthed man slipping his hand into his pants is just nothing in the comparison of gore. His toes all curl against the metal chair bottom.

Fever chains the subject on the screen. He does not writhe nor moan nor plead, only a man of business, a businessman, shuffling enough to nude his thighs and lax shoulders for circumduction. His eyes are closed as he lays there, _here_ , a figment beneath L’s glass eyes that watch so intently. Light thumbs the underneath of his underwear hem. Before a breath, he’s bare from them, watch glinting with the movements of his wrist. So deft. He touches himself like he’s got any right too, like these hands that stroke him are those of God Himself come down to please him, like he’s dipped beneath a world of water and the ripples don’t wish him back. Yagami Light touches himself, and L watches him, biting his fingerprint, curling his toes, wondering just what a labyrinthine profession he must be of to count it for business.

Though he’s learned thus far from the endeavor, that, A, this suspect does not hesitate to deliver whatever pleasure he feels is deserved, indicative to just how high a morale tips overhead; B, the son of the head chief’s got a thing for pretty boys behind a computer screen and C, oh, that’s got to be at least six inches, maybe seven.

A tongue coasts his lips, though still, his expression rests stoic.

Something hot percolates from the corner of Light’s mouth. L tilts forward to better catch it, compresses himself like an almond in its shell with the way he’s strained himself to sit so tight; he challenges the speaker system to hear just what Light has to mumble now in the fire of this moment of flesh. All he sees is that smoking hearth of fingers dancing up, down, up, panting out at last for the first moment of weakness that clenches right hard back into a grit of his jaw. All he sees is Yagami Light and his two percent chance of being a malefactor, splayed out on his mattress stroking his hard, dripping cock and he himself the beautiful mind is sipping on sickness to think that he worships the sight.

There’s abruptness then, some that twists up and clasps back as though unaccounted for- all at once, after a snap of the head to the right side corner, the night steps back into thighs pressed and belt tucked back up into place. Brunet drags messy around his head once he rises to sitting and ducks exactly that, turned enough to hide himself from L’s view. He strums a finger down his bottom lip as he drops that hand to grasp his ankles alongside the other. His neck cranes to catch another monitor, this one angled just right to study the twitching shame grown of foreign discovery upon misdeeds, yet he cannot pinpoint from where it originates. Could’ve been a sudden thought of what may come should he go on. But- but there’s more to it. No. He knows it.

More prominently, he knows more than wonder lurks among his insides. He knows he’s got caution of mien on his side, and were it not, he thinks he’d have a much more molten look in his eyes to unravel explanations for.

Focusing back forward, the bed is made neat, the desk is again occupied, the forever away is forever away and it’s...two percent.

L rubs his knuckles to his eyes.

Perhaps he could use some coffee as well.


End file.
